


Crossed the Ocean On a Sail

by onstraysod



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Prompt Fill, There's so much unrequited lust on Terror the ship's boards are caulked with it, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 19:46:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16125452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onstraysod/pseuds/onstraysod
Summary: When William Gibson falls ill, Jopson has to take on extra duties. One of them places him in danger of revealing feelings he believes will never be reciprocated.





	Crossed the Ocean On a Sail

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt request from caligularib who asked for "Mamihlapinatapei:" _The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move_. 
> 
> Title from "My Love For You is Real" by Ryan Adams & The Cardinals

Gibson was ill and Armitage had enough work tending to the Marines and the warrant and petty officers, which meant that it fell to Jopson to expand his duties outside of the captain’s cabin. Aside from serving at meals, he was now temporarily responsible for the ranking officers’ laundry, for tidying their cabins, and for helping them dress and undress. 

It was this last duty that he dreaded.

Jopson was not a man given to complaining. The truth was, he felt no need of it. He was happiest when he was useful and busy: perhaps that was why the long winter months in the ice didn’t affect him as they did some of the other men. He had too much to occupy him without adding melancholia to the list. Being given extra duties was not something he resented, especially when there was good cause for it, and Jopson would expect to be treated with the same consideration were he the one lying in the sick bay. No, it was not the extra work that had him wiping his slick fingers on the thighs of his trousers during supper to keep his grip on the bottle of Allsopp’s from slipping. It was not the extra work that had his stomach tied in loose knots, or his tongue stuck to the roof of his dry mouth. 

Jopson was more than afraid. He was terrified. Terrified of speaking a word he did not mean to speak; terrified of allowing his emotions to shine out through his eyes. Terrified that somehow - through some psychic osmosis - the contents of his nightly fantasies would be laid bare as he edged around their subject, unable to avoid physical contact in the narrow berth, his fingers trembling as they pushed a button through an eyelet or untied a neckcloth.

And yet his terror was edged by a thrill that raced up and down his spine and pooled in his groin. It gave color to the most dismal of days, warmth to the coldest nights. The strength of his desire, set free, might have melted the pack and sent both ships careening over the waves. And it unnerved him.

At last supper was over, the wardroom empty, the table cleared. Breathing deeply, Jopson went to the first lieutenant’s cabin and knocked softly on the sliding door. He wanted to be admitted; he hoped he’d be sent away. He didn’t know which wish was uppermost in his mind at any given moment.

“Come in.”

Little looked over his shoulder as Jopson entered, and Jopson averted his gaze before their eyes could long meet. It was hard enough for him to force himself across the threshold of Little’s cabin at this moment with any calmness: to walk forward while making eye contact seemed an impossible feat. He slid the door shut behind him, and the awareness of how this enclosed the two of them together in so small a space had the blood pounding in his ears.

“All done with the captain, then?” Little asked. 

“I go to him last, sir. He wishes me to make sure his officers are settled first.” Jopson was pleasantly surprised by the steadiness of his voice. “Let me help you with that coat.”

They exchanged words every day, had done since the beginning of the voyage, and Jopson had never shied away from Little, even after he’d recognized his burgeoning feelings. But the present circumstances were another matter. Standing in front of the lieutenant, so close he could feel the warmth of his breath, Jopson began easing one gold button after another through its eyelet, opening up the fine wool coat to reveal the layers underneath. His fingertips tingled as if with muscle memory, as if they’d moved over those buttons before in truth and not just fantasy.

_He’d laid Edward bare so many times. Exposed a fine, broad chest to the chill night air; run his fingers through the dark hair that trailed down his stomach. He’d put his mouth to that chest, moving over it slowly, tasting heat and salt, listening with delight to Edward’s every gasp, every moan._

“You must be tired, doing double duty like this.” 

Surprised by the comment, Jopson looked up, meeting Little’s gaze. Little was a kind man, but his position of command kept him reserved and his habit of giving orders made even his innocuous remarks come out sounding a little gruff. But these words were spoken in such a soft tone of concern that Jopson’s knees nearly buckled beneath him.

“I-- I don’t mind it. I’m happy to help.” He smiled and forced himself to hold Little’s gaze a moment longer, though to do so without leaning forward to steal a kiss took every ounce of willpower Jopson possessed. 

_Edward’s eyes held a hypnotic power over him. Dark and lustrous in the flicker of the lamp light, rimmed with long black lashes, Jopson believed he would do anything to see them lit with the same shimmer of lust they held now, watching as he unfastened his trousers. Edward’s grasp on his thigh was both gentle and possessive as he pulled him closer, and Jopson felt a rush of hot need all the way down in the marrow of his bones, excruciating in its power._

“I wish every man on board shared your sense of duty.” 

Done with the buttons, Jopson eased the coat off Little’s broad shoulders, then turned to put it away. “It’s not just duty, sir. I find these long voyages pass more bearably when there’s good camaraderie among the men, and anything I can do to further that — well, I’m happy to do.” He returned to Little and began unfastening his waistcoat. If he went a little slower than he could have, and let his fingers brush over the spaces in between, surely the lieutenant would put that down to exhaustion, if he noticed it at all. 

Little gave a soft grunt. “Your philosophy is admirable, no doubt. But I find it hard to wish for camaraderie with shirkers.”

Now Jopson was distracted enough from his thoughts to pause in the unbuttoning and stare at the lieutenant unabashed. “You don’t believe that Gibson’s illness is genuine?”

Little frowned, shrugging. “I cannot be sure. I have no proof, and Dr. McDonald seems to deem it real enough. Perhaps I should not go searching for malfeasance where it does not exist, yet...” He arched a thick eyebrow at Jopson. “Gibson does not keep the best of company.”

Jopson’s brow furrowed. “I thought he was friends with Mr. Armitage?”

Another grunt. “I do not much care for the company Armitage keeps, either.” Noticing the concern in Jopson’s face, Little smiled rather ruefully and shook his head. “Pay me no mind. I’ve simply become a cynic.”

Jopson laughed. “You are too young for that, sir.”

The eyebrow arched again, yet higher. “You’d be surprised.”

“I refuse to believe it.” Jopson continued unbuttoning the waistcoat. “You are only acting with a first lieutenant’s concern for the well being of the expedition and its crews.”

Little smiled and Jopson could almost imagine it was an expression of fondness. “I envy you. The ease with which you retain a high opinion of everyone--"

“It’s not naïveté.” Jopson winced immediately at the defensiveness in his tone, but Little merely shook his head.

“I didn’t say it was. I don’t believe it is. You simply choose to look for the best in people, to hold out hope that some good exists in them. That’s not a failing, it’s a virtue.” Little dropped his gaze and added quietly: “I do hope... I hope you can always find what is best in me.”

Jopson’s hands stilled on the waistcoat’s buttons. He pushed his words past the breath caught in his throat. “You needn’t have a moment’s concern about that, sir.”

_Skin slick with sweat, breath coming rough and ragged, Jopson gathered Edward in his arms and pulled the other man hard against him. His fingers threaded into the lieutenant’s thick hair. They trembled together, their bodies coming down from that ecstatic peak, but even the strength of Jopson’s lust could not make what had just passed more wonderful than this gentle embrace. More than anything else he had longed to hold Edward, to feel their bodies pressed in warmth and mutual comfort, to breathe in sync. Edward carried so many burdens, and he wanted - had always wanted - in some simple way to ease the pressure of them, to shield the lieutenant from hurt and harm: even if it cost him his life to do so. He wanted to tell Edward all of this, but words were both weak and needless. It was all spoken in touch, in the soft, lingering kisses Jopson placed on the top of Edward’s head as the lieutenant rested his face on the steward’s chest, just above his thundering heart._

Trying not to blush at the remembrance of his fantasies, hoping that his assurance hadn’t given everything away, Jopson focused anew on his tasks. He laid Little’s waistcoat aside, then went to work untying his neckcloth, forcing himself not to consider all the delightful uses such a garment might be put to. He was just about to fold this article and put it away when he caught sight of a loose thread on the lieutenant’s shirt.

“You’re missing a button,” he said, fingering the empty place between the first and third buttons at the shirt’s neck.

“Am I?” Little glanced down, laughing softly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“But _**I**_ should have noticed when I came to dress you, sir.” Jopson ran a hand through his hair as he sometimes did when nervous or uncomfortable, feeling his cheeks redden. Being in a state of lustful distraction was no excuse for such an oversight.

“It’s no matter, no one could have seen it.” Little paused, looking at Jopson intently enough to make the steward avert his gaze. “Can you not call me Edward, Thomas? At least when we’re alone?”

Jopson swallowed, almost audibly. “I-- Of course, sir.” He winced and Little laughed. “Of course, _Edward_.”

“That’s better,” Little said, and he was smiling brightly. It was so rare a sight that Jopson could not help but stand, dumb and staring, utterly transfixed. It took a massive effort to return to the business at hand.

“Let me mend it for you, si-- Edward.”

“You have enough on your plate. I can do it myself.” Little glanced around the cabin. “I should have a housewife laying about here somewhere...”

“Please - I insist. It won’t take but a moment. You can bring it by my cabin later this evening.”

“Well, if you insist,” Edward grasped the bottom of the shirt and pulled the tail end from his trousers, “you can take it with you now.” 

“Oh, I--" The words died on Jopson’s lips. Little pulled the shirt over his head, and Jopson found himself staring for the first time outside of fantasy at the lieutenant’s bare chest. Imagination had hardly done him justice. Years of shipboard labor and overland excursions had sculpted hard muscles in arms and stomach, and the band of hair that swept downward from his collarbones was darker and thicker than fancy had painted it. The warmth of the close cabin was suddenly oppressive, and Jopson found it difficult to breathe. 

Little put the wadded-up shirt into the steward’s hands and Jopson started as if waking from a dream. “Thank you,” he rasped out, wincing inwardly at the weakness of his voice.

“It’s I who should be thanking you, Thomas,” Little said. “For everything.”

Jopson could only nod. He dared not risk opening his mouth upon another word, not when all he wanted to use his lips for was a slow exploration of the lieutenant’s flesh. He turned and left the cabin as quickly as he could, sliding the door shut behind him. The passageway was mercifully empty and he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and endeavoring to catch his shallow breath.

The shirt in his hands held the heat of Little’s body. It held his scent. Jopson raised it slowly to his face and inhaled deeply, feeling something deep inside of him break free from the last bonds restraining it.

_Edward. Edward. He whispered it over and over into the crook of Edward’s neck, into the ridges of his stomach, into the muscle of his inner thigh. Edward he murmured again into the lieutenant’s hair, against the lips parted on a sigh of pleasure. Both syllables were precious to him, tastes he relished on his tongue. He had no fear now, no need or desire for restraint, and he gave voice to the words he had longed so desperately to say. Edward, and then, at long last: I love you._

***

Once Jopson had gone, Little released a breath it seemed he had been holding for hours, days. He collapsed upon his bunk and dug his fingers hard into his thighs, hard enough to bruise, his heartbeat reverberating through his bones the way the firing of the cannon echoed through the timbers of the ship.

“You damned fool.”

He could have spoken, any number of times. Instead of thanking Jopson, instead of insisting on the use of Christian names, he could have said what he ached to say. But he’d held his tongue and doomed himself to another night of frustrated fantasy, fumbling with himself beneath the blankets. Another cold dawn with a hollowness in his heart.

He closed his eyes upon regret and let his thoughts slip into a place where he was a braver, more confident man.

_Thomas, he murmured, his voice strained with need. He cupped the steward’s fine jaw in his hands and gazed into those incredible eyes, gray-green as sunlight slanting through a distant berg. His lips traced the line of that long slender nose, pressed into the shallow dimple of the chin, marked a wet trail down the stubble-coated throat. Thomas, he murmured, against the shapely lips he’d dreamed so long of kissing._

Opening his eyes again, Edward gave a brief, dry laugh. He was truly pathetic. Sliding his hand beneath his pillow, he found the pair of scissors he had hidden there before Jopson’s arrival, and beside them the button he had snipped from his shirt. He rolled the little cloth-covered disk in his fingers, wondering if his lame attempt to prolong Jopson’s stay had been too transparent. Disrobing in front of the steward hadn’t been part of any plan, and Little had to wonder what he’d been thinking in the moment he’d done it. Had he expected it to end with Jopson’s hands upon him, with Jopson’s own chest bared and pressed to his?

God knew that’s what he’d wanted. God knew he loved the steward to distraction.

He just couldn’t summon the nerve to say it.

Yet.

**Author's Note:**

> I've tried to research and understand the different duties allotted to Jopson (as captain's steward), Gibson (subordinate officers' steward), and Armitage (gunroom steward), but I've found conflicting information. So I probably messed these details up a bit. But we're not necessarily all here for accurate Royal Navy history, are we? ;)


End file.
